Morning runs `cross fields of green,
Where the hills rolled high and low,
When the sun’s slant glazed with honeyed light,
and the dew was all aglow,
*
We’d leap the gilded gullies,
And laugh when splash we did,
Watch flaring birds in cursive flight,
‘fore answering a challenger’s bid.
*
Not just a surge or press of pace,
Gauntlets of heart and lung,
But the questions that once did fabulists ask,
Whether in rhyming tone or sung.
*
The ones that spoke of purpose,
Asking why, and when, and how,
Queries which had no finite truth,
But in whose lee there lied the Tao.
*
So with wind a close companion,
We’d summon with full resolve,
That supplicant’s tool called effort,
As these riddles we sought to solve.
*
And afoot we’d take on such mysteries,
Even coming to affable accord,
As how to measure a life well-lived,
Without reduction to prosaic reward.
*
There was enough in just the doing,
The prize in the strides we took,
Adding in sum beyond the measure,
That of candle, bell and book.
*
Yet in the lessening of our pulsing gain,
As hearts and lungs retreated,
The hollow chamber of the now stilled air,
Made our wisdom feel depleted.
*
Still, we never diminished the searching,
Or our allegiance to an explorer’s cause,
As we sought the fullest expression,
Of our sacred native laws.
*
Ones we needn’t be reminded of,
To hold in close compliance,
Ones all men could live well through,
If accepted with full alliance.
*
But such are not the world’s ways yet,
Nor perhaps were ever meant to be,
Thus we witness the continuing dark shadows,
Men’s blind spots don’t allow them to see.
*
Still, such musing are ones worth sharing, I think,
If only to indulge the few,
Congregants who on early morning runs,
Seek an alternative to Sunday’s pew.
END
BRAVO!!